Do you have a death response plan?

A topic for a summer's day.

Emily calls an Uber.

On the way back from taking my mom to see a vascular surgeon — because her carotid artery is more than 90% blocked — though that was not the worst news of the day — I called my oldest friend to tell her about this very disturbing appointment.

According to the surgeon, who actually seemed familiar with Mom’s medical history — must have been a slow doctor day haha! — Mom has a few conditions that the family hadn’t heard about. Most of them dire or life threatening. Sure, we knew she had a-fib, and now a blockage in one of the main arteries into her head, but we didn’t know the full rap sheet. 

Not only does she have COPD, the surgeon said, oh, and kidney failure — hi, what? — but he also revealed that Mom had had a cardiac catheterization last fall that she kept to herself. Maybe because it revealed multiple blockages in her heart that her children might want to know about.

In case you’re thinking: Wow, that post on your mom’s extensive death prep makes more sense now! Ya.

As my friend said via the car speaker, while I drove down the Taconic Parkway in the rain: “So her body’s systems are failing. And she could die at any time.”

***

This next part is true. It may also seem weird. If you read Squished, you know that I don’t often provide trigger warnings. But if creating an action plan in the event of your untimely death makes you squeamish, you might want to hop off.

***

The best thing about old friendships is forgiveness. The next best thing is always being able to talk about whatever the hell your body is doing. Whether that’s getting your period or having sex a few years later or why you left your partner or who you wanted to kill at work today or how menopause murders sleep (and your sex life) — 

AND — super relevant for those of us of a certain age — if you were to choke on a piece of shrimp, keel over and die on the kitchen floor, what happens next? Do you have a plan?

This is not some solipsistic thought exercise. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t either gone through this with a loved one, or thought about the repercussions. Death doesn’t make appointments. There’s no Optum Network Death Portal where you can message your primary death provider to check their availability. 

 

Honestly, this thought was planted years ago. Eons before I understood death actually happens. I was sitting at JFK on my way to France, absorbed in my own stupid dating dramas, and stifling howls of laughter as I read “Bridget Jones’s Diary,” and the line that would live in my brain for the next 20 years: 

“I suddenly realized that unless something changed soon … I'd finally die, fat and alone, and be found three weeks later half-eaten by Alsatians.”

That’s only funny before you’ve heard real stories of people dying and being found later. Now not so much. So, I asked my friend, who lives alone: “Do you have a plan? Like, if you fell in the kitchen and hit your head, how would I know, who would I call?” 

Luckily, she got it. (Too hard to talk about another parent exiting the planet! Let’s focus on other grim details that provide a false sense of control!) 

“Ok,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s figure out how long it would take for someone to find me.”

We laughed. But it worked! We gamed out how many hours would pass, or how many unreturned texts of calls, before a close friend or family member would get concerned enough to say, “I think something’s wrong, let’s call her neighbor or the police.”

We cross-checked who’s connected to whom. Did I have the neighbor’s number? Does her brother? What about her daughter? Do they have my number?

And, hey, sorry, hate to bring it up, but … the ex-husband — should someone call him? “He still kinda feels like your next-of-kin,” I said. 

“Um, no, he doesn’t,” she said. But agreed that I should have his number, too.

***

Having a conversation like this might strike you as morbid, funny, or practical. Or all of the above. Is it the kind of thing you can bring up at the family picnic? Your next bbq with friends?

In case you don’t live in this big messy city, I’ll share one of the odder NYC codes of behavior: Most people will tell you what they pay in rent. And it’s mostly ok to ask. If someone owns their apartment, however, it’s déclassé to ask what their mortgage payment is. But it’s fine to inquire what they pay for their monthly maintenance.

What makes one topic “too personal” to share versus another? It wasn’t so long ago that having an affair was shocking and shameful. Now we have ethical non-monogamy! In fact, I recently had a pleasant conversation with a friend about another couple’s decision to open their marriage — and btw, do you know a good dentist?

So, yeah. On we go.